


Five Things That May Have Happened to Nash

by beanarie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 5 Things, M/M, Missing Scene, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 04:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That May Have Happened to Nash

**Author's Note:**

> Originally submitted for the "Find out what happened to Nash" challenge in insearchtion. UP EXTRACTIONEERS.

-1-

They're moving him. Not that he's surprised. Saito didn't get to where he is by having his dirty work done in full view of the general public. This apartment building is entirely too visible.

The first thing he sees when they get to the street is a black car with tinted windows parked in the front-most space. That has to be their ride.

Out of nowhere, he hears the muffled roar of bullets half muted by a silencer. One screams past his left ear, causing his head to erupt in sonic dissonance. Saito's thug jerks backward, falls, and doesn't move again. Clapping his hands over his ears--uselessly, since the damage is already done--Nash falls to his knees. Saito's other thug turns to run, and takes a bullet to the back of his head.

Nash stays where he is, shaking, knowing he should get gone, but unable to even tell his feet to move.

An olive-skinned woman with black hair slicked and tied back into an elegant ponytail steps out of the car. "Lawrence Albert Nash?" she says. There are very dark sunglasses covering her eyes.

"Who?" he asks.

The woman presses her lips together. "Get up. The United States government would like a word with you."

 

-2-

Nash sits, his skinny frame folded over a metal table, and he waits. It's been about half a day, at least. Apparently Saito's men had decided they'd reached their maltreatment quota before the big confrontation with Cobb, because no one had laid a rough hand on Nash since they left that building. They even gave him water.

Color him ungrateful, but honestly. Awaiting death is so much more boring than he ever expected.

He's started naming different colors in his head, and he's on to lemon yellow, when the door opens. In walks a man who no doubt is as much in Saito's pocket as those two thugs had been, but this man is not a drone. His eyes are too sharp for a simple office worker, and his hair too long and loose to be security. 

Nash sits up and crosses his arms over his chest. It feels like he should say something, but "hello" is about all he can come up with, and he's still unsure of how polite he should be here.

The man does a short, quick bow, and sits down on the other chair. "My name is Kenichi, Mr. Nash."

"Okay," Nash says.

"I work for Mr. Saito." Nash feels himself frown. "You wouldn't have heard of me. I'm somewhat new." Kenichi removes a bottle of Perrier from his jacket pocket and places it on the table. "Mr. Nash, Cobol did not pay the reward they placed on your head. They actually tried to shoot some of our men when they demanded payment. As we are not a charitable organization..."

Nash tilts his head slightly. "Where are you going with this?"

"We don't do favors." Kenichi glances at the bottle of water as though insulted that it remains untouched. "Particularly not for men with no honor."

The world has swiftly ceased to make sense. "But I-"

Kenichi nods. "Yes, since you mention it. You haven't much honor yourself. However, we are in need of someone to help instruct our people on the fine art of dream-architecture."

"Me?"

"You know what they say, those who can't do, teach." Kenichi spreads his hands. "I could always kill you now."

Nash shakes his head vigorously, and Kenichi breaks into a full grin.

 

-3-

After the bag is taken off his head, Nash is free to look around at the cement walls and tiny windows. _Why would they take me to a basement?_ , he thinks. His foot slides on a layer of plastic sheeting. Nash gulps, mentally crossing his heart with the hope that it had been part of the preexisting décor. A drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face.

He sets wide eyes on the men from Cobol. "Look," he says, holding out his hands. "I've got... certain skills. I can be useful."

"Sorry," the South African says. "No vacancies." He points his gun at the middle of Nash's forehead.

Nash emits a short, silent sigh. He knew that wouldn't work.

The last thing he sees is the smirk of his killer.

 

-4-

The last conscious moments of Nash's life will apparently take place in a construction site trailer. That's if the people from Cobol decide to kill him the instant they show up. Nash isn't crazy about this possibility, but he also doesn't hugely prefer the idea of dying somewhere else in a few hours. He keeps his head down on the table, dutifully not looking at Saito's henchmen. In a minute, he'll tell them that if they let him go, he wouldn't be able to identify them in a line-up.

Suddenly there's a crash of breaking glass, and the gentle thud of something small entering the trailer, one and then another. The small room fills with smoke and what Nash assumes are Japanese curses. Nash slams his eyes shut and holds his breath. Hands grab at him, push him out the door, and Nash opens his eyes. Saito's men are coughing, nearly doubled over. Taking in a shallow breath, Nash decides to run, fully aware that he could end up with a bullet in the back.

Miraculously, he's reached the edge of the construction site, and he doesn't have any new wounds. In and of itself, that could be cause for a grand celebration, but Nash continues running. A white van rumbles to a start nearby, and someone from inside calls his name.

Nash halts so quickly he loses his balance and nearly falls. "Who-" A head covered in curly blond hair pokes part of the way out of the driver's side window. "Jamie? What the fuck are you doing here?"

Jamie throws a pointed look behind him. "If we wait a few more minutes, I can explain it to you in the afterlife. Get _in_."

Nash doesn't need to be told twice. "How?" he asks, breathless as he falls into the passenger seat. "How did you _know_? How did you find me?"

Jamie studies the road with a little more intensity than seems necessary, even under the circumstances.

"Jame," Nash huffs.

"I've got some clothes for you in the back," Jamie says, pointing with his thumb.

Nash goes. He does need to change... probably everything about himself. But, oh, well, a new outfit is a decent start. "I asked you a question. Two questions."

Jamie makes a motion with his hand like swatting a fly. "Whatever. I had you followed. I knew yesterday was job day and I wanted to make sure nothing bad happened."

Nash rips off his button-down and slides out of his dress pants. "We've talked about this. I thought I made my position on that Big Brother bullshit pretty clear." He throws his clothes out the window.

"Babe, really?" Jamie asks as Nash exchanges his nakedness for jeans and a Weezer t-shirt. "We're doing this now? Right after I hired two street kids to throw smoke-bombs into a trailer to help you get away from well-dressed, neckless men with guns?"

"Don't hide behind how your crazy saved my life!" Nash runs both hands through his hair, willing them to stop shaking. "I mean, yeah. I'm grateful. Fuck you with the pouting, Jamie. It's not as cute as you think it is. I'm grateful. Thank you. But after we get away, could you _try_ to not be so nuts and possessive?"

Jamie just looks pleased. "I've got tickets to Chicago and then Toronto. From there we'll take a train to Nova Scotia," he says. And Nash manages to refrain from saying ew because it really is the last place anyone would look for anyone. "We'll need jobs, of course. Maybe we could do that dog breeding thing?" He's trying so hard to sound like it doesn't really matter, like it's just some silly idea he had.

Nash climbs back into the passenger seat. He threads the fingers of his left hand through those of Jamie's right. "Anything but cocker spaniels, okay? Those dogs are assholes."

 

-5-

The helicopter is zooming into the distance with a speed that Nash thinks is incredibly unfair, given that it is taking away the only people he had even a slightest chance of persuading not to kill him.

Saito's guy, the one with the weird facial hair, drags Nash ever closer to the stairs. Nash awkwardly flips around in Goatee's arms so he can see where he's going. Where he's been has gotten boring.

There's a curious roil in the pit of his stomach that he can't explain, that has more to do with something he doesn't understand than with his impending death. Purely out of desperation, even though he _knows_ this is reality, Nash thinks really hard, and his heart clenches, he feels incredibly stupid.

The stairs morph into a fireman's pole.

Nash lets out a gasp. "Oh, God," he says. Cracks develop in the ground and it begins to crumble. "I'm dreaming. I'm-"

The world shorts out for a little while. And then he is opening his eyes.

"Water, Mr. Nash?" asks a voice through the haze.

Sitting up in his cot, slowly, like an old man, Nash accepts the glass and gulps from it gratefully.

"All you all right?" A man swirls into focus. A man who personifies the word "medium". He is a middle-aged man of average height. He is attractive enough, though not especially handsome. His clothes are clean, but not too fashionable or expensive. Even his skin is a light brown, perfectly halfway between pale pink and nearly black. "I've never used the technology myself, but I'm told it can be very disorienting."

And how. "Do I know you?" Nash croaks.

The man smiles slightly. "Give it a minute."

As he takes a few more sips, he remembers a name, an office. Hands holding his resume. "Mr. Suarez. This was..." He coughs. "So, I guess..."

"As you can imagine, we did get many, many applicants for this position." Camacho offers his hand, which Nash accepts to haul himself up from the cot. "We'll be in touch."

In other words, no, Nash did not get the job.

His own fault. He should really work on that lack of loyalty thing. But how was he supposed to know they had such a decisive way of rooting it out?


End file.
